Souls Run In Circles
by Pandora of Ithilien
Summary: When your heritage changes, does your life change with it? Or are some things meant to happen even if the story's not quite the same? A response to ReganX's Royal or Not Challenge
1. The Ambassador's Daughter

Disclaimer: Not mine.

This is a response to ReganX's Royal Or Not Challenge.

_**Chapter 1 – The Ambassador's Daughter: **_Catalina de Puebla leaned against the ship's rail, studying the green land growing ever larger in front of her. _Inglaterra_. England. Her father had been King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella's ambassador in England for the past ten years, and now Catalina and her older brother, Miguel, were to join their father in the island nation. It was because Maria de Puebla, their mother, was dead, and their mother's family, who had disapproved of Maria's marriage to a _converso_, refused to take them in.

The thought of her mother's relatives made Catalina's mouth tighten in anger. It was unfair. Just because her father's family had been misguided in their faith, she and her brother should not be despised. Her father had seen the truth when the King and Queen had come to their thrones and chased out recalcitrant Jews and Moslems, and he should not be blamed for having been raised incorrectly. Certainly she and her brother had not been taught to have sympathy for the Jewish religion. But there was nothing she could do to change people's prejudices, so she pushed the thought away. Perhaps in England she would not be looked down upon for being half a _converso_.

"Daydreaming again, Lina?" Miguel's light voice teased her. Catalina rolled her eyes at her brother. Once they landed in England, she would accompany their father to court while Miguel went off to school to study law, so he was taking advantage of their limited time together to engage in their familiar banter. He said he would have to make up for all the time he would be missing in the future.

It was a good thing that both of them had long since become fluent in English – their mother had always hoped that the three of them would eventually come to England, and so she had insisted. After all, neither of them would be able to survive in England if they couldn't even speak the language. But part of her wished he wouldn't speak to her in English. Not yet. So when she shot off her reply, as she always did, she spoke in Spanish. _"Si yo fuera, le diría a usted?"_ (If I was, would I tell you?)

Miguel laughed. _"No, supongo que no. Pero quién sabe, quizás algún caballero Inglés barrerá de sus pies y no tendrá necesidad de sueño."_ (No, I suppose not. But who knows, perhaps some English knight will sweep you off your feet and you won't need to dream.)

"_Tendría que ser un hombre más notable de hacer eso."_ (It would have to be a most remarkable man to do that.)

"And I would want nothing less for my sister," Miguel said, switching to English as the ship docked in Southampton. The two young Spaniards exchanged a look, both of them knowing why he had changed languages again. They both understood that it was always best to behave like the natives, and that meant no Spanish in public. Catalina missed it already. But she knew that it was for the best, especially if they wanted to be accepted here as they never had been in Spain.

* * *

"Papa!" Although she was fifteen, and a young woman, Catalina ran into her father's embrace as though she were still the child of five she had been when he had left. For his part, Rodrigo de Puebla was thrilled to see both of his children again, but Catalina had always been his favorite. Not that he'd ever let anyone know that, of course. Releasing his daughter, he clapped his son on the shoulder.

"Hello, Miguel."

"Father," Miguel said with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"As it is for me to see you both," the ambassador said warmly. He studied his children, for the first time regretting his position. As a _converso_, there was little he could do for advancement in Spain, so he had jumped at the chance to serve Ferdinand and Isabella in England. But it had forced him to miss so much of his children's lives. The tall, confident young man before him was not the tousle-haired nine-year-old he had left behind, and no matter how eagerly she greeted him, Catalina was no longer his little girl.

Still, there was nothing to be done about the past, and now his son and daughter were in England with him. Catalina would live at court with him, and Miguel would go to school and study law. With any luck, his daughter would make a good match and his son would advance in the world. The fact was, they would be more likely to make out well here than in Spain, thanks to his family history. And he wanted only the best for them.

"How was your journey?" he asked.

"Uneventful," Miguel said. "We were lucky; no storms or anything. The winds were strong, but that only made the journey quicker."

"Good, good," Rodrigo said with a nod. "Well, for the next three days, we can spend time together, but after that, Miguel, you are to leave for school. Catalina, I will present you at court. You've arrived in time for the great celebrations – Arthur, the Prince of Wales, is to marry Marguerite of Angouleme in three weeks' time."

Catalina smiled. She knew what her father was thinking – such celebrations would give her ample opportunities to show herself off. Part of her rebelled at the thought of being little more than an object, but such was the lot of women in this world, and she knew that. Besides, it was a banquet, a happy occasion. It couldn't be that bad.

* * *

Catalina felt sorry for the French princess who was marrying Arthur, Prince of Wales. Her new husband, while not an ugly boy, was pale and drawn. Something made her think that the boy wouldn't last much longer, though she was not enough of a fool to ever voice such a thought. But her prayers went out to the new couple, because for some reason she thought that any happiness they might have would be short-lived.

The other Tudor prince, Henry, Duke of York, was a different matter entirely. He was only ten, but he was like a bonfire next to his brother's faint candle, vibrant and full of life. She imagined that in a few years, he would have all the young women of the court falling at his feet. He seemed like the type, especially with the way he seemed to be so friendly with the young gentleman Charles Brandon. Catalina had already been 'treated' to Brandon's charm; she really had little interest in young men who were convinced that no female could resist them.

He had been a good partner for a dance, though, Catalina had to admit that. And perhaps Brandon's confidence was not merely ego; many of the young women at Court did seem rather smitten with him. Including Princess Margaret, the younger Tudor princess, though since she was only five, it was more hero-worship than anything. Princess Mary, the elder princess, was twelve, old enough for a crush, but she seemed disinterested in the young men of the court. Catalina's father had mentioned that Mary was likely to be betrothed to the Scottish king, James, so perhaps that explained her haughty expression. She knew that she was soon to be a Queen, above even her brothers, the equal of her parents, and that was enough to turn any girl's head.

Catalina shook her head. Perhaps it was because she was just a simple gentleman's daughter, lucky if she became a minor noble through marriage, but it seemed to her that the idea of setting up such a great marriage so early was a bad idea if it allowed girls to give themselves airs. But then, she had been raised to never display arrogance. It only bred trouble with a bloodline like hers.

Her musings were interrupted when a boy came to stand in front of her. She stood immediately and curtsied, because he was Henry, Duke of York. "Your Highness," she murmured politely.

"You can rise," the boy said carelessly. She did so, looking at him directly, deciding that, even if he was royal, he was too young for her to peep at him through her eyelashes. He was in his shirtsleeves, having cast aside his coat so as to dance rambunctiously with his older sister, Mary. She wondered what he wanted.

"You're Spanish, right? De Puebla's daughter?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"They say you're to have a place in my mother's household."

She hadn't known that, though it came as no surprise. Her father would do all he could to secure her a place where she could do well, and there was no better place for a girl to rise than as part of a queen's retinue. So it made sense to her. But what didn't make sense was why the young prince cared.

"That may be, Your Highness, and if it is so, I will be quite pleased. From what I have seen, the Queen appears to be a wonderful woman."

"When you are one of my mother's ladies, my sisters and I want you to teach us Spanish. We want to know something that Arthur won't. He'll be far away in Wales, and he won't be able to learn it."

Catalina wanted to raise an eyebrow at that last comment. Young Prince Henry seemed to relish the idea of knowing something his brother didn't. She supposed it was the natural attitude of a younger son, especially when the older boy was going to be King, but at the same time, it seemed rather spoiled. But she only smiled and nodded. "I would be happy to do that, Your Highness."

He treated her to a sunny smile that only reaffirmed her earlier ideas. When he got older and learned how to use that smile, he really would have girls doing almost anything to earn it. Now, though, on that child's face, it was just sweet. "Wonderful," he said happily, before walking away. Catalina smiled in amusement. Perhaps he was a little spoiled, but he seemed to have a pleasant enough nature. It wouldn't be good if he was to be King, but since he was only a second son, there was likely little harm in it.

* * *

Elizabeth of York watched her son speak with the Spanish ambassador's daughter, smiling at Henry's irrepressible confidence. Her younger son was so like her beloved father that sometimes it hurt her to watch him as much as it delighted her. It was very like when she looked in the mirror and saw her own mother's face looking back. She had loved her mother, though they had had their differences. She often thought about the stories her mother had told her and her siblings when they were young, stories of the legends the surrounded her grandmother Jacquetta's family. She'd never really known how much of it was true and how much was just fairy stories, but…

She felt an odd chill when she saw Henry speaking with the girl – Catalina, Elizabeth thought her name was. It wasn't a bad feeling, just strange. As if the brief conversation was the start of something more momentous. But that didn't make any sense, and the stories of a water goddess for an ancestress, a bloodline that carried magic and foresight, were just pretty tales. She should not regard it. Should she?

A/N: All Spanish translations are based on Google Translator. If anyone reading this sees a glaring error, feel free to point it out. All I speak is English and a bit of Italian, so I wouldn't know what was right and wrong in Spanish if you paid me.


	2. Changing Fates

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**_Chapter 2 – Changing Fates_**: The boy prince was right, and three weeks later, once the wedding celebrations had ended and Prince Arthur and Princess Marguerite were settled at Baynard's Castle, Catalina's father formally presented her to the Queen. Elizabeth of York had seemed beautiful but unapproachable when Catalina had seen her at the feast, a statue queen rather than a woman. But when her father withdrew, Queen Elizabeth brought Catalina away from the other women and had the girl sit next to her, with a kind smile.

"How do you find the court, Mistress de Puebla?" the Queen said. Catalina smiled.

"It's quite grand, Your Majesty. I find I am nearly overwhelmed."

"It can be unsettling at first, or so I have been told." Catalina remembered that the woman before her was not just the wife of an English king, but the daughter of one. She had grown up at court, so of course it was normal to her.

"It's a wonderful experience, though," she said quickly, not wanting the Queen to think she didn't like it. She did, even if it was still unfamiliar to her. And she knew that she didn't want to risk losing her place in the Queen's household. It was a position, her father had said, that every noble girl in England wanted. And she was a foreigner. So she was doubly fortunate. It would be very foolish to do anything to jeopardize this.

"I'm glad to hear that. I like my ladies to be happy, and I hope that you will be happy here."

"I'm sure that I will be, Your Majesty."

"Good. Oh – I'm not sure if you believed him, but my younger son, Harry, told me all about the little conversation he had with you at the wedding banquet. I'm afraid he really will expect you to teach Spanish to him and young Margaret. Mary is a bit more concerned with learning about the Scottish court at present."

Catalina smiled. "I don't mind. The Prince seems like a sweet boy, and I'm sure I'll enjoy teaching him and his sister if their hearts are set on it."

Elizabeth smiled. "Oh, they are quite determined to have you teach them. However, I've managed to convince them to wait a few weeks, until you are settled into your position here."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

* * *

It wasn't too difficult for Catalina to get used to her place at court, not really. She shared a room with a girl called Mary Willoughby, who was all too willing to befriend the newcomer. For Catalina, who had never really been close to anyone but her brother, it was a heady experience. Mary was light-hearted and cheerful, and though Catalina had always tended toward seriousness, when she was with Mary and the other young ladies of the court, she found herself relaxing in their company, becoming less aloof with every day.

As for the Queen, she was wonderful. Catalina had wondered if Elizabeth of York's initial kindness was just something she did automatically, to ease the nerves of new members of her household. If that had been the case, Catalina would have been grateful – even that was more than she'd expected. But she was genuinely kind, enquiring whenever one of her ladies seemed particularly out of sorts.

It didn't take long for Catalina to decide that Queen Elizabeth acted that way because she herself got so little sympathy. Lady Margaret Beaufort, the real ruler of the court, was absolutely horrible to everyone but her son and occasionally her younger grandson. Catalina had to admire the woman, because she seemed quite regal and assured, but she did not like her personality at all. Still, she thought, it was a pity that the Prince and Princess of Wales were already on their way to the prince's home in Wales, Ludlow Castle. She imagined that from the regal, courteous behavior of Queen Elizabeth and Lady Margaret's skill for keeping an ordered, pleasant but not wild court, Princess Marguerite would learn all she needed to about being Queen of England.

After the newlyweds had left, the Queen seemed withdrawn for a time. She was quite fond of her eldest child, understandably so, and seeing him leave again had left her in low spirits. Both the King and his mother seemed largely unaffected, at least by the departure. Rumors that the marriage was still unconsummated – apparently the Princess had already had her monthly courses once since the wedding – did appear to have them a bit tense. Catalina didn't see why. Just because a pregnancy hadn't happened yet didn't mean that the marriage was not consummated. She remembered couples at home who had not had children for years, and she highly doubted all or even most of them had held off on bedding each other.

As for the three remaining Tudor children, their reactions were varied. Little Princess Margaret had seemed quite upset at the prospect of her brother leaving again, even though she had kept herself remarkably composed for a five-year-old. Princess Mary had already gained the perfect control that was expected of royal children, though from what Catalina had overheard she wasn't best pleased either. It was clear that Mary and Arthur got on quite well, which was not the case with Mary and Prince Harry. Mary, it seemed, considered her little brother an annoyance at best. Harry didn't seem at all upset to say farewell to his brother; in fact he seemed quite pleased to be the only Prince at court.

It was just before Christmas when Catalina found herself ordered by the Queen to go see the Prince and Princesses in their rooms at court. It turned out that the royal children really were serious about the Spanish lessons. Catalina didn't mind; she looked forward to being able to use her native language again. Even if she would be doing so by teaching it to English children – and royal or not, they were still children – it would still ease the homesickness that had taken her by surprise. She'd never thought she would miss Spain much, not after the trouble her family had faced, but she did. It was too cold in England, and she couldn't see the land being particularly beautiful even if it were midsummer. She missed the heat and vibrancy of Spain. But since she wouldn't be able to have that, at least she could speak her native tongue, and bring a little of it back that way. It would be good enough.

It was very strange, she thought, to have to be so deferential to children, but she followed the protocol, curtseying deeply to the Prince and Princesses. They, however, did not seem to care very much about it. "Don't waste time with that!" Harry exclaimed. "We wanted to start as soon as possible!"

Catalina smiled. "So all three of you want these lessons? Princess Mary, your mother said you might not be interested."

Mary shrugged. "I need something to do with my time."

"Oh, Mary, stop acting like Grandmother!" Margaret said with a scowl. "You want to have fun, like Harry and me!"

"I'm too old for fun, Margaret," Mary said arrogantly. "I am going to be Queen of Scotland. As I said, I just want something to do."

"Mary, be quiet! Mistress Catalina needs to start teaching us. If you're not interested, go away!" Harry said hotly.

"I never said I wasn't interested," Mary mumbled, her dignity crumbling a bit. Catalina was hard-pressed to hide a smile. They might be royals, but they were very like the siblings she'd seen all her life, and it was comforting to see that royal blood didn't make one less human.

"All right," she said in her best tutor's voice. "First, perhaps you'd like to know what your names would be? Prince Harry, you would be Enrique. Princess Mary, you would be Maria, and Princess Margaret, you would be Margot."

"What would your name be if you were English?" Margaret asked.

"Katherine," Catalina said. "Now, can you repeat your Spanish names to me?"

* * *

The lessons continued on a fairly regular basis. The royal children were not always at court, but Eltham Palace was less than a day's ride away. Generally, Catalina would make the trip once a week, having been given permission by the Queen. She was surprised by that, since the King and his mother ruled everything, but apparently they either approved of her teaching the royal children or else they did not care.

Harry was just finishing up his recitation when they were interrupted. The governess apologized but explained that she had news of great import. "His Highness the Prince of Wales is dead," she said in a quavering voice. "He succumbed to the Sweat."

Mary went white, and Catalina could see that she was shaking. Margaret burst into tears, and Harry… He looked surprised, but not upset. Then he blinked and his face morphed into an expression of sorrow. A chill ran down Catalina's spine. She didn't like how the boy reacted to his brother's death. Even if it meant that Harry would be King now, one day, he should still have been upset that his brother was dead.

Harry was going to be King… Her acquaintance with the boy had not changed the initial impression she had of a sweet but spoiled child. It did not bode well that he showed no signs of losing that personality. Spoiled children grew to be spoiled adults, and all they shed was the sweetness. The idea of Harry as King made her more than a little nervous.

Mary gave her little sister a sharp look. "Margaret, stop that! It's not seemly for a Princess of England to squall like that!" Then she turned on her heel and left the room, heading for her quarters. Catalina suspected that the girl wanted privacy to do her own grieving.

"I will go to the chapel and pray for my brother's soul," Harry said steadily, leaving as well. Margaret, her face tear-stained, looked at Catalina.

"Katherine?" Catalina always used the royal children's Spanish names; in response, Margaret had taken to using the English version of Catalina's own name. She'd expected to find it annoying, but instead it was endearing.

Catalina nodded, and the little girl threw herself at the teenager, crying in her arms. Catalina stroked the girl's blonde hair, murmuring soothing nonsense. Her own throat tightened as she thought of her own brother and what it would be like to lose him like this. Her heart went out to the Queen, who must be heartbroken, and to Princess Marguerite, whose future had suddenly become so uncertain.

If she was pregnant with Prince Arthur's son, that baby would be King after his grandfather. If she was pregnant with a daughter… Catalina wasn't sure. But if she was not pregnant – if the rumors were true that the Prince was impotent – then Harry would be King. He's going to need guidance, because he'll be a spoiled man as he is a cosseted boy. But who will dare to direct a King?

Harry was not exactly praying for his brother's soul. Oh, of course he didn't want Arthur to burn in Hell, but… He was too full of gratitude to be sad. He'd always known that he ought to be King, not Arthur. Apparently God knew it too, or He would not have called Arthur to Him, leaving Harry as heir. This was his destiny, to be King and to continue the Tudor line. He would have to be very sure that he did not fail.


	3. Crossing Paths

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 3 – Crossing Paths:**_ At court, the atmosphere was noticeably subdued. It was understandable; the kingdom had lost the prince who was to be their next King. It would take a little time before everyone was ready to accept Harry as the future Henry VIII. And even if they had adjusted immediately, Arthur had been loved, and so the grief was natural.

The Queen was especially distraught by the loss of the son with whom she'd been close. Arthur had resembled his father more than his mother, but in temperament he had been very like Queen Elizabeth. Harry was a lot like his maternal grandfather, or so Catalina had heard, but while this endeared him to his mother, it wasn't necessarily conducive to their being very close. They weren't that much alike.

She was surprised when the King allowed all three of his children to come to court, but decided that maybe she was being a harsh judge. After all, he wasn't a _monster_, just harsh. It was good for the whole family to be together right now. Clearly the King realized that.

Catalina herself found that she had all but gained a little shadow. Mary and Margaret spent most of their time in their mother's apartments, but while Mary sat with her mother, almost never leaving Queen Elizabeth's side, Margaret seemed to prefer spending time with Catalina. Since she was always asking for new Spanish words, or stories about Spain, Catalina suspected that the young Princess looked to her for distractions, while Mary turned to their mother for comfort. That made sense; she knew that after her mother had died, she'd spent all her time thinking of England and the journey ahead so that she wouldn't have to remember what she'd lost.

The person Catalina felt the worst for was Princess Marguerite. Of course, she wasn't at court – she was still in seclusion at Ludlow – but the thought of what that girl's fate looked like now… Catalina was the same age as the young widow; perhaps that was why it was so easy for her to imagine being in Marguerite's position. The French girl had gone from being the future Queen of England to a widow whose worth on the marriage market was not destroyed, but was certainly lower than it had been. Catalina could imagine the pretty blonde dwelling on her changed fate and being terrified of the future. It sent chills down her spine.

* * *

_Tell them he could not do it, that he was unmanned._ Her mother's letter was written in the code she'd been taught before leaving France, but Marguerite still tossed the letter into the fireplace after reading it over several times, enough that his words were imprinted on her mind.

Her mother wanted her to claim that Prince Arthur had never succeeded in bedding her, that she was a virgin untouched as she had been when she left France. It was not true – he had managed it, a few times, just not often. But the truth wasn't the point. Not really. What was important was preserving the Anglo-French alliance.

_We_ _need to do all we can to secure Francis as Louis' heir._

The King of France had not yet given up hope of a male heir, but it was becoming less and less likely. Under those circumstances, there was a very good chance that Marguerite's beloved little brother would one day be King of England. And so Marguerite herself would have to be married again, this time to a child who was the same age as the little boy she would do anything for.

She didn't want to marry Harry. He was an annoying, spoiled little brat. Arthur had been shy and withdrawn, but he had always been courteous to her and she couldn't imagine married life with him as a chore. He had treated her well. She did not think Harry would be such a kind husband. Still, as her mother pointed out further down in the letter, marrying a younger boy had its advantages. She would be able to manipulate him easily. The boy was already showing signs of having a weakness for beautiful women, and Marguerite certainly was beautiful.

She turned away from her desk to study her reflection in the mirror. Yes, that was one thing no one could question. Marguerite of Angouleme might not be a princess – even if her brother was essentially Dauphin without the title – but she was of royal blood, and she was beautiful. If she wanted the boy Prince, surely she could have him. And even if she didn't want him… Her brother needed her to win him, so that was what she would have to do.

* * *

"So tell me, is Princess Marguerite really still a virgin?" Miguel asked. His tone was innocent, but the devilish glint in his eyes belied that. Catalina scowled, smacking his shoulder in reproach.

"I don't know, and it's not your business or mine, Miguel, so stop it!" Catalina snapped. "I'm away from court gossip for a month, I would like to enjoy that, thank you."

"Not liking the glamour of court life then, little sister?"

"It's not that, not really. It's just… It's not what we grew up with, that's all. Madre always told us to be honest, to treat people well, and court's not like that at all. Everyone's always jockeying for position, they're always looking to get ahead even if it means crushing someone else to do it. It's exhausting, and all I do is watch it."

Miguel gave her a commiserating look. "Well, while you're away from it, I'll try to behave then. Relax, we're only staying in the London house. It'll be quiet, just you, me, and the servants."

"And how many of your university friends will be stopping by to visit? I know you, Miguel."

"I'll tell them to leave you alone, if you like. They're a boisterous lot."

"'Boisterous lot'? Brother dear, you're starting to talk like an Englishman."

"It happens, Lina. At court I'm sure they're used to foreign mannerisms, from the ambassadors and such, but at an English university, you either start working to blend in or life can become unpleasant."

Catalina pressed her lips together in disapproval. She could have told her brother about the ladies in Queen Elizabeth's court who looked down on the young foreigner, their disdain sharpened by resentment. Catalina was aware that her association with the young royals had come about because she was something of a favorite with the Queen, and some of her native-born ladies did not like that. But really, if she was in the same position and was English, they'd be just as angry, so there wasn't much point. As she'd said, the whole point of court was jostling for favor.

"Well, in that case you're doing quite well," was all she said. He gave her a wry smile, knowing as well as she did that there was no choice, really. They were in England now, and it was always best to fit in, no matter where you were. If that meant acting English, then so be it.

* * *

Catalina sat in the small library, reveling in the quiet. As Miguel had said, his schoolmates were a "boisterous lot", and all of them seemed to have decided that they wanted to flirt with their friend's pretty little sister. She generally didn't mind – they were amusing, at least – but she had finally decided that it was time for a little peace and quiet. The young men had already declared their intentions to avoid books entirely during their holiday, so she imagined she was safe enough in the library. She was just glad that her father had been able to gather a library for his London house, though since he no longer had to keep a home in Spain, it must be easier that it had once been.

Currently, she was reading an old favorite, tales of King Arthur and Camelot. She remembered how, as a young girl, she had been so sure that all royal courts must be like that, with kind and chivalrous knights and beautiful, gracious women. Then she'd accompanied her father to the Spanish court. It had only been a brief visit, before her father had left for England, but even at five years old, she'd been aware of the nasty whispers that followed her family. Now, in England herself, she'd experienced a court fully for the first time. Chivalry, as it turned out, was a game courtiers played at, no more genuine than the smiles so many of them wore at all times.

Still, there were some people who weren't like that. She smiled at the thought of Queen Elizabeth, who was as kind as Catalina always thought a Queen should be, and of Princess Margaret and Prince Harry. Little Margaret was a bright, innocent soul, and Harry… He was a spoiled boy, and if it didn't change she feared he might be a spoiled man, but he had such a sunny nature that it was impossible not to like him. Mary was arrogant and a little rude, but it was clear that a good bit of her attitude was an affectation, crafted to hide her insecurities. Then there was Mary, the girl she shared a chamber with. She was always cheerful, and showed no prejudice toward a foreigner. There was some good at the English court, even if it was not the fairy tale of Camelot she'd once daydreamed about.

She'd immersed herself in the book once again when she was interrupted by a soft male voice. "Oh, I'm sorry! Miguel didn't tell me someone was in here."

Catalina looked up from her book, meeting the newcomer's dark, worried eyes. "That's all right. I don't think I've met you before. Are you one of Miguel's schoolmates?"

"Ah, yes," he said with a smile. "I'm Thomas More. You must be Catalina. Miguel talks of you often."

"Well, that can't be good. Miguel likes nothing better than to tease me when we're together, so I can only imagine what he must say of me at school." She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you still standing in the doorway? You can come in and sit down, I've already said I don't mind being interrupted."

After coming in and taking a seat across from her, Thomas shook his head. "He's very fond of you, your brother," he told her. "He told us that you've been serving as a maid of honor to the Queen, and that she likes you enough to let you teach Spanish to her children. He seemed very proud of that, if you want the truth."

"That's good to hear, Master More. So, are you studying law or theology?"

"Law, actually. I considered theology – I was drawn to it, honestly – but if I start with law, I can hopefully devote more time to theology later."

"If you wanted to study theology, you could have entered the Church," she observed.

"Yes, but…" He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I thought about that too, but I don't think I'm cut out for priesthood. And what of you? What do people do at court?"

"Not very much," she said bluntly, startling a laugh from him. "Mostly, the younger courtiers flirt, the older ones scheme for power, and the handful of us who have limited interest in those pursuits stand off to the side and watch."

"That sounds about as dull as the worst of my studies."

"It can be, but there's plenty of fun. Masques, and festivals, that sort of thing. Being in the Queen's service is pleasant; she's very kind. And the royal children are sweet. Prince Harry is already quite determined to be an excellent King someday."

"It must be a great amount of pressure, knowing that he is now to be King when it was never his fate before Prince Arthur's untimely death."

"I imagine that it is, yes," Catalina agreed. "I have to say that I'm glad I'm not royal. It must be very tiring sometimes."

"I wouldn't know, but you're probably right," Thomas said.

* * *

Miguel hadn't seen this coming, but he couldn't really say he was surprised. Thomas was the quiet one out of their circle, and his sister had never been particularly drawn to gregarious personalities. Still, he wondered if it was a good idea to let them get too close. He remembered Thomas mentioning that his father was starting to make noises about his marriage, and that the elder Master More was already trying to find a wife for his son. While he didn't think Thomas was the type to intentionally lead a girl on, there could be misunderstandings.

Still, Lina wasn't an idiot, and right now there didn't seem to be anything going on except for two people spending time together because of similar mindsets – namely, a desire to avoid the rambunctious behavior of Miguel and his other friends. He'd managed to eavesdrop on some of their conversations, and the talk was of various things – Spanish culture versus English, books that one or both of them had read, that kind of thing. It wasn't as though they were spending their time flirting.

He told himself he was just being an overprotective brother, and that there wasn't anything to be concerned about. Lina certainly wouldn't thank him for interfering in her life, so he decided to behave for the moment.

For her part, Catalina was well aware that her brother was paying careful attention to the situation, but she personally felt that he had nothing to worry about. She and Thomas were spending a lot of time together, yes, but it was all innocent fun. It was refreshing to finally talk to a young man who didn't spend all of his time trying to charm her, like most of the young men at court did when speaking to her or any young woman. And it was equally nice to be treated as though she had a brain in her head, again something most young men seemed to forget about young women.

"I hope your brother doesn't take it into his head that he's going to have to defend you. I've never been much of a martial sort, and that could be trouble," Thomas pointed out dryly one day as they walked in the house's small courtyard. Clearly he'd noticed Miguel's observation as well.

"Oh, I doubt it. He worries, but he's quite even-tempered, my brother. It takes a lot to have him upset enough to do something like that."

"I've noticed that. Several of the others have made it a goal to try to get him to lose his temper."

"They shouldn't do that. When he is pushed that far, it's more than a little alarming to watch."

"Well, I'll try not to be the reason he proves that to everyone."

"A wise decision, on the whole," Catalina said, nodding. She could clearly remember an occasion in Spain involving a boy who had constantly harangued both her and her brother for their heritage. Miguel had borne it for years, but when the boy had decided to toss small rocks at them and one had struck Catalina's cheek, Miguel had attacked the boy. She could still remember the fight, fierce enough that she had been afraid the combatants would do each other permanent damage.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, before Catalina said, "I received a letter from my father."

"Oh?"

"He's decided that I've spent enough time away from court, and he wishes me to set off and join the progress by the end of this week."

Thomas blinked, not sure what to say to that. The fact was, he was more than a little worried about Miguel's observant nature, because he knew that the Spaniard had reason to be watchful. He'd never enjoyed a lady's company the way he did Catalina's, and he suspected that if they were to spend more time together, he would be in danger of becoming besotted. That would be a terrible thing, because he knew that his father would already have plans for him with regard to marriage, and no matter how drawn to the Spanish beauty he felt, it didn't change that. All it could do was hurt either of them.

"I'll be sorry to see you go," he said finally. She turned to look at him, an oddly piercing look in her blue-gray eyes. It was almost as though she knew how he felt, and that 'sorry' was a bit of an understatement.

"I'll miss our conversations," she told him with a rueful smile. "But then, I haven't left yet, have I?"

"No, you certainly haven't. So tell me, have you read…"

* * *

"Mistress de Puebla! It's so wonderful to see you again!"

Catalina shot a level stare at the smiling Charles Brandon, whose lopsided grin wilted slightly when he realized his attempts at charm weren't really working. "Hello, Master Brandon," she said coolly.

"You really have no interest in me, do you, Mistress?"

"I prefer men who have a little substance to them, not just charm," she informed him tartly. Even as she said that, her mind returned briefly to Thomas, but she pushed the thought away. Miguel had mentioned before she left that becoming interested in him would be unwise, as he was all but betrothed already. She had, of course, denied that there was even a possibility of it – "I wouldn't dream of considering anyone Papa did not suggest," she'd said – but she'd been a bit less than honest then. Now, back at court, she once again remembered why she'd gotten on so well with the future lawyer in the first place.

With a nod to Brandon she said, "I'm sorry, but I really must report to the Queen. Good day, Master Brandon."

She turned on her heel and left, almost colliding with the elder Princess. "Your Highness, I'm sorry, I did not see you," she said, dropping into a curtsey.

"Clearly," Mary said sharply. Then she smiled. "I can forgive that, though, because of the way you turned Master Brandon aside. It's a rare woman here who doesn't fall for his charms."

"Don't you like him, Your Highness?" Catalina asked as she fell into step a pace behind the younger girl, both of them heading toward Queen Elizabeth's apartments.

"I don't like anyone who thinks a girl should be honored when he smiles at her," the Princess said archly. Catalina smothered a laugh.

"That's a fair point."

"And the worst of it is, my brother idolizes him. If that continues, Harry's going to grow up to be exactly the same way, God help us all. I'm glad I'll be well out of it in Scotland. The final preparations have gone through, you know, and I'm to leave after my fourteenth birthday. That's in less than two years, since I'm nearly thirteen now."

"Congratulations, Your Highness," Catalina said politely.

They arrived at the Queen's apartments, Mary heading directly for her mother while Catalina made the proper curtsies before approaching. The Queen spoke with her older daughter for a little bit before turning to Catalina, but before she spoke, the younger Princess, who was sitting next to her mother, called out, "Catalina! You're back!"

"Hello, Princess Margaret," Catalina said with a smile.

"You shouldn't go away," the five-year-old said as severely as someone her age could manage. "Harry complains about not having Spanish lessons and I miss seeing you."

"Then I shall have to stay at court from now on, Your Highness," Catalina said.

"Margaret, Mistress Catalina was visiting her brother," Queen Elizabeth said gently. "I know that you missed her company, but surely her brother missed her more when he could not see her."

"Oh," Margaret said, looking a bit guilty. "I'm sorry, Mistress Catalina. Your brother must have been very happy to see you."

"As I was to see him, but I'm also happy to be back at court."

"It's good to have you back, Mistress Catalina," Elizabeth said. "Harry has been disappointed by the lack of lessons lately, Margaret is right about that. So you had a good visit with your brother?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. It was kind of you to allow me to leave your service for a time so that I could see him."

"I would never dream of keeping family apart," the Queen told her. "It is a most unpleasant experience, so if you ever wish for time, you only need ask."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Catalina took her place on a stool next to Mary, who gave her an impish smile and started interrogating her about what she'd done during the month she was away. Slowly, the Spanish girl felt herself relaxing. Yes, court had its unpleasant side, but not in these rooms, where the Queen's quiet warmth seemed to envelop them all. She was happy to be back.

A/N: With regards to the idea of young More having a marriage lined up for him even though he's not nobility (my impression is that the Mores were gentry, or close to it), I've always read that marriages were arranged in this era for all classes. The concept of marrying for love as a regular occurrence is a relatively new one. And yes, to those who are wondering, Thomas will be back (no Terminator jokes please). One more chapter in this section, which has so far covered November 1501 to summer 1502, and then there's to be a two-year time jump.


	4. Farewell to the Queen

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 4 – Farewell to the Queen:**_ It had been right around the time of Prince Arthur's death that the Queen had fallen pregnant yet again, and now she was close enough to her time that she was sent into confinement. Catalina was horrified by the conditions. Did these people have no understanding of medicine? She was from Spain, where until recently the Moors had held sway. Though they were infidels, even King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had acknowledged that there were many among the Moors with brilliant minds.

She did not think that the Moors would advise confinement in these stuffy rooms. It clearly was not necessary – it was known that Queen Isabella had given birth in tents while on campaign, and her children had been born healthy enough. But this was England, not Spain, and Queen Elizabeth was not a Queen Militant. So she would give birth in this rather unpleasant situation.

There was one good thing about this system, Catalina had to note. Men were banned from entering the Queen's rooms unless they were related, and in fact most people who were not the Queen's ladies were forbidden as well. The King never came to visit, and Prince Harry was kept too occupied with his studies – now that he was to be King, it was even more important that he be well-educated – to come often. That second might not be for the best, as the Queen loved her little boy, but it was certainly good that the Queen had this chance to retire from the court. Such a respite could only be helpful.

The Princesses were allowed to spend time with their mother when they weren't with their tutors, and so the Spanish lessons continued. The Queen decided she wanted to observe, and enjoyed listening to her little girls practicing the unfamiliar language. Harry was no longer involved – he was learning several languages, including Spanish, from a proper tutor, as befitted the Prince of Wales. In some ways, she missed working with the exuberant young boy, but in other ways only having the Princesses to teach was a relief. Mary was far less prone to fits of arrogance without her brother to provoke her, and Margaret was happier now that Harry wasn't teasing her about not learning as quickly as he did.

Still, it was a pity that the Queen missed her younger son's formal rise as Prince of Wales, before the court. Catalina and a few other ladies, including Mary Willoughby, attended so that they could tell the Queen all about it later. Catalina wondered if the young boy's pride was as obvious to everyone else as it was to her. He was obviously gleeful at the prospect of becoming King, seeing it as no less than his due. Once again she was filled with that odd sense of foreboding.

A King had to be prideful; it was part of that aura of kingship that they wore like a second set of clothing each day. She had seen the King of Spain once, when she accompanied her father to the Alhambra, and she had now carefully watched the King of England. So Catalina knew that they needed pride, but even in a King, too much pride could not be good. Too much, and you began to think that you had the right to do whatever you want, no matter the damage to others. And in a King, such a belief would be disastrous.

But she said nothing of that when she and the others reported to the Queen. It was just her own opinion, anyway, and hardly anything that she needed to share with anyone, especially the Queen. So she held her peace, and prayed that Harry's training as Prince of Wales would be enough to make him a good King, issues of pride or no.

* * *

Catalina was right about Harry's pride, but currently the young boy wanted nothing more than to be Duke of York again. It wasn't fair! When Arthur was Prince of Wales, he got to be married to a beautiful princess and live in Wales, running his own court there. Harry wasn't going to be marrying anyone for years, or so his father said, and he wasn't allowed to go to Wales. Instead, he lived in a chamber adjoining his father's, as though he were a child, or a servant!

His friend Charles had told him to amuse himself by deciding which of the ladies at Court he would court and marry, given the chance. Charles was already old enough, at sixteen, to be thinking about that. Harry envied him his easy charm with the ladies, and also his age. He wanted nothing more for himself than to be a young man, tall and strong like his friend, and not a boy under his father's thumb.

But maybe Charles had a point, and maybe thinking of such things would lighten Harry's dark mood. So he sat back from the Latin he was supposed to be translating and daydreamed instead. There were a lot of pretty women at the Court, but most of them smiled indulgently at him, as though he were just a pleasant little boy. He didn't like that. They ought to respect him properly, as their future King.

His brother's widow was pretty as well, and she had a way of smiling at him that drew his attention. But did he really want the bride who had belonged to Arthur first? Harry already knew that people compared him to Arthur, and he was tired of it. He was the best of his siblings, the one God had meant to have the crown – why else would He have taken Arthur? – but the courtiers did not see that. Would it really be wise for him to take his brother's wife as his own, thus making comparisons even easier? Did he really want to have a wife who would always be thinking of her first husband, the elder brother he had forever been overshadowed by? He didn't think so.

No, if he had his choice he would not marry Arthur's wife. She was his sister by marriage anyway; it would be wrong of him to marry her. But then, who would he want to marry, given the choice? He thought about it for a while, and then he grinned, remembering a pretty Spanish girl with dark hair and blue eyes, someone who did _not_ treat him like a child in the days when he'd had lessons with her. He could see himself marrying Catalina one day, except… Princes married princesses, that was the rule, wasn't it? But if he didn't marry until he was King, maybe he could make his own rules. He liked that idea.

When he was King, he would be able to do as he liked, because his father would no longer be there to hold him back. And once he was free, what would stop him from taking any woman he wanted as his wife, even a commoner, even a foreign commoner? No one, he decided. Oh, for now it was just a silly dream and maybe by the time he was King he wouldn't even want Catalina anymore. But the idea that he would be able to choose for himself once he was King wouldn't leave him, and it was a notion that would sustain him when his father's overbearing nature became all but impossible to live with.

* * *

Catalina had never seen a woman give birth before, and she wished she was not witnessing it now. Queen Elizabeth's screams ripped through the air, and it was all Catalina could do not to flee the room. The midwives seemed to know what they were doing, but she had also heard them swapping tales of the various horrors that could occur to a woman in childbed, in lowered voices so that the Queen did not hear. Personally, she couldn't think of a worse job for a woman than to continually help other women give birth, not when it was like this, or could be worse. It might be dishonorable, but perhaps even working in a brothel wouldn't be as much of a nightmare.

She shook off the thought when one of the junior midwives told her to get the pageboys out in the corridor to bring more firewood. With a quick nod Catalina ran to do as she was told, and then waited for the boys to return. Rather than disrupt the midwives, she and Mary, as the most junior of the Queen's ladies, brought the wood into the bedchamber where the midwife who asked for it quickly stoked up the flames. Catalina wished she was still helping to move the wood; it had made her feel useful for a while. She hated just standing here while the woman who had been so kind to her strove to bring her latest child into the world through the pain of what the midwives were saying was a hard labor.

She tried to distract herself by remembering how happy Queen Elizabeth had been. No new child could take away the pain of losing her firstborn, Arthur, but it was clear that she found the idea of a new child to love comforting. There had even been one day, just before she'd been confined, when she was talking about names for the child. She wanted either Edward for a boy or Elizabeth for a girl, after her mother or father, she'd said. It had been sweet, but then Catalina had heard Mary mutter, "If the King lets her pick." That wasn't right, she'd thought then. But there was nothing anyone could do about King Henry's iron hand on all aspects of his rule, including his family.

Her thoughts were cut short by an even louder scream from the Queen, followed by a baby's wail. "_Gracias a Dios_," she muttered to herself. But the relief everyone felt was short-lived when the Queen fell back against her pillows, unconscious. Catalina couldn't help but feel as though this was not going to end well.

* * *

Elizabeth of York died on her thirty-seventh birthday, outliving her baby, Katherine, by nine days. The little girl had died on February 2nd, the day of her birth, with her mother following on the 11th. The King hadn't even bothered to name the child as his wife had wanted, though in his defense perhaps he did not know. Catalina did think he genuinely grieved – they said when he'd first heard the news, he'd ordered everyone away and had not wanted to be disturbed for several hours. She felt sorry for the King, who might have regretted that he did not show that he cared for his wife when she lived, and she grieved all the more for the Queen, who had probably never known if her husband saw her as anything more than a brood mare and a Yorkist tie that strengthened his power base.

The Queen's household was dismantled quickly, just after her funeral. Some of the ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor were dismissed, though anyone who could stay at court with their families did so. Others were reassigned to one of the other royal women's households. Poor Mary was sent to Lady Margaret Beaufort, and she hated it. She was terrified of the King's mother, as many were, and she was miserable.

Catalina herself had been sent to Princess Margaret's household, something she was glad of. Margaret had all but attached herself to the Spanish girl again, just as she had done when her brother died. Catalina knew exactly how Margaret felt now; she'd been older, but she too knew what it was like to lose her mother.

"Tell me all about Spain," Margaret said. "Please, Catalina, I like your stories."

It was just a distraction, the way Catalina had read her father's letters constantly after her mother had died, while they waited for a ship. Thinking of somewhere, anywhere else, helped, if only for a little while. This time she talked about the Moors, what little she could remember of them. Their strange ways, their love of beauty and poetry made for a wonderful fairy tale, which was really what the child Princess wanted. Catalina herself also remembered her father mentioning once that under the Moors, worship was a personal choice. Under the Moors, she would not have been despised for her father's heritage, she and Miguel would have been just fine in Spain.

But then they wouldn't have come here, and she wouldn't be teaching a little girl a song that all the children she'd grown up with had learned. It was a sad song, about the Moors' defeat at the hands of Ferdinand and Isabella, and Catalina taught it to Margaret in Spanish, feeling proud of herself when the little girl's eyes lit up just a little, for the first time since she'd lost her mother. It was odd, how she'd gotten tangled up with these Tudors. Mary, arrogant so no one would see her fear, who Catalina could sympathize with. Harry, that sweet braggart prince, who could grow up to be a wonderful man or a terrible one, depending. And of course Margaret, who was just a wonderful little girl.

How had she come to care so much for another country's royal family? Catalina didn't know, but she knew that she didn't want to go back to Spain now. She wanted to stay, to see what kind of King Henry would make, to see Mary go to her destiny in Scotland, and to see Margaret grow up into a young woman before she too had to leave her home for a dynastic marriage. She even wanted to know what would happen to Princess Marguerite, currently in an odd limbo as the chance of a marriage between her and Henry was debated.

Had she become English, or just loyal to the Tudors? She wasn't sure, and she suspected that it didn't matter. The point was that she wanted to stay, and she felt that she needed to. Something told her that her future was here, though she had no idea what that future might be.

A/N: OK, I know I said a two-year jump next chapter, but change of plans. We really need to get into Henry's reign, and I don't really have anything pressing to cover before that. So, next chapter we should be in early 1509, and it won't be long before Prince Harry is King Henry VIII. I think this is the point where I'm supposed to say fasten your seatbelts, but this is Henry, so you knew that already. And a final note, I did not make that up about Elizabeth of York dying on her birthday.


	5. Long Live the King

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 5 – Long Live the King**_: There were days when Harry enjoyed studying, and then there were days like today, when he wanted to throw his books at the wall. "Thomas, tell me, what possible use am I ever going to have for Greek?" He expected the faint, amused smile from his tutor in response to the comment. Thomas More had only been with him for a little over a year, and was still only somewhere in his twenties. He was young for a tutor, especially considering Henry's last schoolmaster (that man had been positively ancient), and it meant that he was a bit more relaxed than his predecessor had been.

"You never know. Prince Harry, what if you marry someone who can't speak English but was taught Greek? Then you'll be very pleased to speak it."

"Who would speak Greek but not English? French and Latin, perhaps, but _Greek_? Do you just make these things up to convince me that I'm not wasting my time with these lessons?

"Of course not, Your Highness. Would I do that?"

"Yes."

Silence for a moment. Then: "You may be right. However, there's no harm in speaking Greek, Your Highness."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can use my name, you know," he said carelessly. "I gave you permission ages ago."

"That's as may be, Your Highness, but if someone overheard that, I don't think His Majesty or Lady Margaret would approve."

"Oh, sod them," Harry muttered. "I'm sick of them running my life, Thomas, I really am."

"They mean well, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm not. I think they just want to control me. My father's terrified that I'm going to ruin his kingdom, so he's doing the best he can to turn me into a miniature of him, and my grandmother is in total agreement with this plan."

Thomas felt a certain amount of sympathy for the younger man. He had to agree, at least inwardly – he was just a tutor, and therefore he had no right to voice that opinion. But someone like Harry wasn't meant to be confined, it just didn't suit his nature. Sometimes Thomas wondered what that would mean when the Prince became King. When the chains were taken away, what would he do?

* * *

"I really can't take it any longer," Mary Willoughby lamented. "I spoke to my father, and he's finally finished the arrangements for my marriage, so I'll be leaving court. I just can't stand to be in Lady Margaret's household any more, I may well go mad if I don't leave now."

Catalina gave her friend a sympathetic look. She counted her blessings every day; she knew quite well how lucky she'd been to be reassigned to Princess Margaret's household after Queen Elizabeth's death. For one thing, the youngest Tudor, now twelve, was someone that Catalina considered a friend, despite the ten-year age difference. Not to mention, she had avoided being subjected to the unpleasantness of the King's mother's establishment. "Do you know anything about your future husband?" she asked curiously. She wasn't going to tell Mary how much she would miss her, not when she knew how much the other girl had longed to escape Margaret Beaufort's household.

"His name is Edward Brooke, and he's twenty-nine, but I don't know much more than that. To be perfectly honest, I don't much care." She shook her head. "I just want out, Catalina, that's all."

"Is it really so bad? I know Lady Margaret isn't exactly pleasant, and you've always said it's hard to serve her, but, Mary…"

"It is that bad, Catalina, believe me. The way she looks at you if you so much as stumble… It's as though you've just committed a mortal sin. She's a terror, truly."

Catalina put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Well then, I suppose I can't fault you for leaving. Know that I will miss you, though, terribly."

"I'll miss you as well, but perhaps you can come to visit, and I won't always be gone from court. I'm sure my husband will want to come here from time to time." She tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "But what about you? Has Miguel found a husband for you?"

Catalina shrugged. It was Miguel's responsibility to see her safely married now, since their father had died not quite a year before, but he was too busy right now. "No, he's too focused on working his way through the ranks in Wolsey's household," she said. "I'm sure he'll turn his attention to me, but for now I have to rely on my own merits. Papa set aside a decent dowry for me, before the King's attempt to marry Princess Juana caused such trouble for him, so I should be all right in that area." She shook her head at the memory of the disaster the marriage negotiations had been. King Henry took a shine to Princess Juana when she and her husband, Philip, had been marooned in England, and after Juana was widowed, he'd decided to investigate marrying her himself. But that had come to nothing, much like his semi-scandalous attempt to marry his late son's widow.

She still remembered the gossip about that. While it was hardly unheard of for a bride and groom to be so far apart in age, the fact that Princess Marguerite was his son's widow had raised more than a few eyebrows. But it had fallen through, because King Louis – and more importantly, Marguerite's mother, Louise of Savoy – was holding out for Prince Harry. Personally, Catalina felt they had little chance of seeing that happen; as of now, most people at court were pretty sure that Harry would end up married to Eleanor, granddaughter of the Holy Roman Emperor. The betting was certainly in her favor, if the things Catalina had heard were anything to go by.

"Don't you have your eye on anyone? You mentioned you knew the Prince's new tutor."

"He's a schoolfriend of Miguel's, and married besides," Catalina said dismissively.

"What about Master Brandon?" Mary pressed, clearly just teasing now. "He's still interested in you, and once Prince Harry comes to the throne, he'll likely rise, since they're best friends."

"Brandon would only be interested in me until I returned that interest, which you know very well I have no intention of doing."

"Oh, but he's really quite fit, I don't see why you hate him so much."

"Mary, stop it!" But both of them were laughing now. When they calmed down, Mary sighed.

"I know, it'd take more than muscles and a handsome face to draw your interest. But really, Catalina, don't you want to get married? To have a family?"

"Of course I do, but I'm not going to worry about it. What is meant to be will be, I'm sure of it."

* * *

She didn't know what she was supposed to do now. Seven years, seven long, dreary years in this country, and Marguerite still didn't know where she stood. Most of her time was spent at Durham House, and thankfully her family sent her money, because the King of England all but ignored her. She knew why; he resented the fact that her mother didn't think him good enough as her husband. Of course, it wasn't really that, it was that Marguerite's mother had her eye on a better prize. Once Harry was King, if Marguerite was his Queen she would have a chance to direct policy, which would be important. Henry VII would never allow a young bride to direct him, but the boy Harry, all but a child, would.

The chances of King Louis and Anne of Brittany having a son were now extremely slim. Their last child had been born several years ago, and Louis had recently signaled his acceptance of the situation by beginning preparations for his older daughter, Claude, to marry Francis. This way, his grandson would inherit his throne, since he had no son who could. And when her brother was King, he would want his sister to be able to help him. The best way for her to be able to do that was if she was Queen of England.

But what more could she do? She'd done everything she could think of to draw Prince Harry's attention on the visits she made to court, and while she thought he found her attractive – most men did – he did not seem to have any particular interest in her. He barely spoke to any females at all, and when he did, it was almost never her. Usually it was his sister or one of her ladies, like that Spanish girl. What was her name? Marguerite didn't recall, but then, non-entities didn't usually stick in her head.

But was she a non-entity? Harry wasn't a fool, and he must know that his father and grandmother wouldn't stand for him falling in love with a commoner – and a foreign one at that – but he generally spoke to her as just one of his sister's ladies. But he didn't really speak to the others. No one at court seemed to think much of it; Catalina – that was her name – had always been a favorite among the royal children. But what if it was more than that?

Marguerite didn't know for sure, and she was aware that she might be seeing a threat where there was none. And what could she do to entice Henry that she hadn't already done, if she was right? She'd already done everything a royal girl could in that regard, with little to show for it. She would just have to wait and see how the land lay. King Henry was ill; he could not last much longer. When he was dead, and his son was King, then… Then everything would be different. She didn't know if that would help her or not, but it was still her only chance.

* * *

Henry VII knew he would be dead soon. He could feel it, and on some level, he didn't even care anymore. He was too tired to keep carrying on, too sick of constant fear, never knowing which of his courtiers might decide to betray him. It had all started to go wrong when Elizabeth died. He'd loved her, really, in his way; it was just that he'd never been one to display emotion. He knew she must have compared him to her own father and found her husband wanting, but he'd done the best he could by her, by their children.

Lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he wondered if that had been enough. It was too late now to change it, but… Now that his life was at an end, he could not help but look back and wonder what he could have done differently. There was Marguerite, of course, who he'd blamed for her mother's sly ways. Harry really should marry her, it was the honorable thing to do. But if he said that, his son would never do it. Better to let the boy have his head, he would do as he wished anyway. He would not make the thing more complicated by forcing his son to think up some elaborate excuse for denying his father's deathbed wish.

"Tell the Prince to choose his own bride," he muttered when one of the infernal councilors who insisted on hovering asked what his wish was concerning his son's marriage. He worried about Margaret, his little daughter, his favorite. What would Henry do with her? He would marry her off, of course, but hopefully the boy would be sensible about it, as he was not likely to be for his own nuptials.

But even thinking about this was tiring him, and he really just wanted to sleep for a short time. Just a short…

* * *

Harry had known his father was ill, but somehow he had never thought the old man would succumb. But he hadn't and now… They knelt before him, and the words they had cried still rang in his ears.

"The King is dead! Long live the King!"

His father was gone, and he was King now. He did not know if he should feel grief at the loss of a parent, relief that he was finally free, or… Somehow, he felt both of those at once, along with a curious, almost painful sort of joy. He could chart the course of his life now. It was his choice what he did, all his choice. His father had not even issued a final order about marriage, instead saying he was free to choose. In his last moments, and finally in dying, Henry Tudor had given his son what he craved most – freedom.

A/N: Some of you might find Harry a bit disturbing here, but I thought it fit.


	6. Games of Love

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 6 – Games of Love:**_ Life in the Princess Margaret's household was odd these days. Harry, in his generous, fun-loving way, had decreed that his sister be allowed to behave as if she were a woman grown, and not a girl of twelve. She had responded to this with glee, and in some ways was the happiest that Catalina had ever seen her. But at the same time, the girl who had already lost her mother missed her father. Henry VII had been a grim man, but he'd softened the most around his younger daughter, something Catalina had occasionally witnessed. It had made her think better of the late King.

Now, the court was suddenly changed. Harry had observed some mourning for his father, mostly in the form of black clothing, but in many ways he had launched right into life as King. Princess Margaret, as the only other Tudor child remaining at court, was right in the center of it all, despite her tender years. As such, her ladies were as well. It was certainly a change from the old King's reign, when the Princess and her ladies were only a marginal part of the court.

Now things were different. Harry was King, and he wanted his sister to enjoy the fruits of his new place in the world as well. He was King, but not yet an anointed one, because he had no yet been crowned. Gossip said that he was waiting for marriage, and then he would be crowned together with his wife. Catalina didn't know if that was true or if he was simply following some formality, out of respect for the late King.

She did know that no one seemed certain as to who the new Queen would be. The betting that ran rampant around the court was more or less split between the Archduchess Eleanor and Princess Marguerite. Then there were those who suspected that Harry would jilt both prospective foreign brides and take an English lady as his wife. After all, King Henry had done so, as had Edward IV, and even the usurper Richard had done so. Never mind that Henry Tudor had not had much choice, or that Richard had been married before stealing the throne. The point, said those few, was that there was a precedent, and in the case of Edward IV, there was even a precedent for a love match as opposed to a dynastic one.

Princess Marguerite seemed determined to make Harry choose her as both a wife who would bring him an alliance and as a woman he could love. She was always dancing attendance on him, smiling and flirting, acting as coquettish as only a Frenchwoman could. It did seem to have some effect on the young King, who was by turns obviously flustered by the attention paid to him by the lovely older woman and able to match her in terms of charm. But from what Catalina could see it all appeared to be no more than a game. A game, she found, that for some strange reason set her teeth on edge.

It was so strange to think of the boy she remembered first as a child demanding Spanish lessons was now a man grown, a King who must soon choose a Queen. That was why the thought of Harry getting married unsettled her so. It had to be. What other reason could there be? That also had to be why a jolt ran through her the first time he had asked her to dance with him. Harry had first danced with his sister, and he and Margaret had made quite a lively pair. But when he handed the Princess off to his friend Brandon, he had, instead of dancing with Marguerite or one of the English ladies, offered his hand to her for the next dance, a volte.

She took his hand with a curtsey and a small smile, allowing him to lead her to the floor. It was easy enough to lose herself in the dance and just enjoy having such a skilled partner, forgetting that he was the King, until the point where he had to lift her into the air. Then she looked down into his face, the sparkling dark eyes, and for some reason her breath caught in her throat. Long ago, she had noted that once he knew what to do with that smile of his, he would be utterly charming. She now knew she'd been right, but when he was turning his new skill on her, she didn't have the faintest idea of how to react.

* * *

She had known that there would be rivals for Harry's heart, but Marguerite had never anticipated that the greatest challenger for the place that should be hers would be a foreign-born lady-in-waiting. Watching Henry dance with the dark-haired Spaniard, Marguerite wondered just what it was about Catalina de Puebla that drew Harry to her. She was pretty, certainly, but she was hardly the only attractive woman around. She wasn't even trying for Harry's attention!

And that, Marguerite suddenly realized, was the answer. With other women throwing themselves at him, Harry was intrigued by someone who didn't. How very typical of a man, to want the one thing that seems out of reach. What was really galling was that Catalina didn't even seem to realize what she was doing to the young King.

Well, Marguerite did not intend to concede defeat just yet, but she was already working out what her plan of action should be if Harry didn't marry her. After all, it was a foolish woman who did not have a strategy in mind should she lose, even if she intended to win. That way, she could manage to secure some advantage for herself no matter what happened. Harry had already given her Baynard's Castle, the London home that she and Arthur had once shared, and promised her a place of importance at court as the Dowager Princess of Wales, with sumptuous court apartments and a place of precedence second only to the King, his sister, and whoever became his Queen.

A girl could do worse, she mused. It was better than what her standing in France would be, at least as long as Louis ruled. When he died, and Francis became King, then she might do better at home than here, but at the moment her lot was actually better in England, whether she became Queen or not. And on some level, she didn't even want it. Her opinion of Harry was unchanged; he was a feckless boy who would require a patient, kind wife to rein him in. Marguerite could be patient with her beloved brother, but otherwise she had little time for young fools.

She would not give up until Harry was joined in marriage with another woman, but Marguerite was aware that she didn't really want to be the teenaged King's wife, and that she would barely grieve if he chose someone else. Her place in England was a good one, and if she was not a wife, well, with some discretion she would not have to forego all pleasure. No matter how things played out, she would make the best of it.

* * *

Harry's coronation date drew ever closer, and he had not yet married. It was said that his councilors and his grandmother were pestering him to wed either Marguerite or Archduchess Eleanor, but that he was fobbing them off. Catalina wondered why. She had thought Harry would marry immediately, if only to prove that he was a man grown, but he seemed content to flirt with the ladies of the court, particularly her.

She could not deny that it was a heady feeling, to have such a charming young man so interested in her. Although she could remember Harry as an eager boy, he had grown up with a vengeance, at least in some ways. In others he was still very young, and she wondered how his future wife would handle that. He would need a patient woman to be his wife, someone who could both be his companion in play and also be a steadying hand for him. It was a tall order for a young woman.

Margaret was thrilled at how well her friend and brother got along. "I wish he could marry you; I don't really like Marguerite," the young Princess confided.

"But even if he wanted to, I'm just a commoner," Catalina said, trying not to show the total shock she felt at the very idea. "And besides, he would never look at me like that. He likes to dance with me, that's all."

"Hmm," Margaret said, somehow not entirely convinced. Technically, Catalina was right, but this was Harry they were talking about. If he did take it into his head to marry Catalina, no one was going to stop him. Not even the woman in question herself.

Catalina, however, didn't give the conversation a second thought. She was an ambassador's daughter and so she understood how royal matches were made. Kings were not allowed to marry as their fancies dictated; their marriages were affairs of state. A King might take his pleasure with any woman, but his Queen was carefully chosen. All Catalina had to worry about now was the possibility that Harry might want her for a mistress.

That was, of course, out of the question. Catalina might just be a foreign commoner, at court only through the King's sufferance, but she would not be his mistress. Her honor would not allow it. If Harry tried to suggest it, she would have to find some way to discourage him, hopefully without angering him too much.

That time came before she had expected it, just a month and a half after the old King's death. She had been dancing with Harry once again, but when the dance ended, instead of going to find a new partner, he kept hold of her hand, leading her out of the hall and into a corridor. "Catalina, I…" He pulled her to him and kissed her lightly on the lips, drawing back just enough to see her face.

She was startled, but not upset, and her faint smile must have encouraged him, because he kissed her again, harder this time. It wasn't until she felt his hands fumbling at the laces of her dress that reason returned. "Your Majesty, no," she objected.

"What? I thought you…"

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I cannot be your mistress. My honor won't allow it."

He pulled away, giving her the oddest look. He didn't appear angry, just… She couldn't read his expression, but he nodded.

"All right, Catalina, I won't force you," he said, before turning away and leaving her alone in the corridor.

Had Catalina been English-born, she would have heard the echo of another woman's voice in her words – Elizabeth Woodville, who had also refused to be a King's mistress. That King, Edward IV, the grandfather young Harry so resembled, had decided to make her his wife and Queen instead. An English background would have helped Catalina understand that strange look on Harry's face, but as it was she could not have guessed the import of her simple refusal.

* * *

"She refused me, Charles!" Harry said, his words pained.

_Of course she did. Catalina de Puebla would refuse Adonis himself if he only wanted to tumble her_, Brandon thought sardonically. But he didn't say that. Instead he spoke bracingly. "Well, she's Spanish, and everyone knows how reserved they are. There's plenty of other pretty women around. Just forget about her."

"I can't!" The younger man was anguished. "I'm in love with her! I think I always have been, from the first time I met her at Arthur's wedding feast. She was always so wonderful with us, and she never treated me like a child, even when everyone else did."

"But if she won't be your mistress, there's nothing to be done."

"There is something," Harry countered. "I could follow in my grandfather's footsteps. He too was faced with a woman he loved, who would not lay with a man who was not her husband."

"You can't marry her!" Brandon argued. "Everyone says you have to marry Eleanor or Marguerite, and your grandmother will never allow it!"

"_I_ rule, not Grandmother Margaret. And so I shall do as I please. I want to marry Catalina, and I don't see who can stop me."

A/N: Uh-oh, it's Harry's first time in "I'm the King of England!" mode. Duck and cover! Just kidding.


	7. Not For Reasons of State

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 7 – Not For Reasons of State:**_ "Tell me, Thomas, did you love your wife when you married her?" Harry asked his former tutor. Since he was of age, he no longer had lessons, but he still valued the advice of a man he now wanted to see simply as his friend, with no other constraints on them.

"No, but I grew to love her. Has your marriage been arranged then?"

"I'm not letting anyone arrange my marriage. I've already chosen my bride, and I'm doing so for love. I know it's unusual, but wouldn't you have rather married someone you loved before you exchanged vows?"

Thomas stopped walking, eyeing the younger man suspiciously. "Harry, is there a reason you're asking me this? Do you have a woman of the court in mind for your wife?"

"I do, actually."

Somehow this wasn't a surprise. He'd always thought that Harry would chafe at the idea of a marriage for state reasons, but even so, he'd been one of those who had believed that Harry would choose the Princess Marguerite. After all, while such a marriage would be a political match, he knew Marguerite, and he certainly seemed to get on well with her. Still, marrying a courtier was just like the young man, really. He only hoped that whoever she was, Harry really was in love, and not just infatuated.

"Do you really?"

"Yes. Do you know Catalina de Puebla? She's one of my sister's ladies."

For a moment he wasn't able to speak, or even to think of anything he could say if his tongue would allow him. There wasn't any reason for the shock that ran through him now, but that didn't stop it. "I've met Mistress de Puebla, yes," he said finally. "Her brother and I studied law together."

"Really? Then you can see why I want her as my wife. Charles thinks I won't be able to do it. I told him I am king and can do as I will."

Thomas nodded, hardly hearing the words. If he'd been paying more attention, he might have been surprised to hear Brandon tell Harry he couldn't do something – usually Brandon was urging his younger friend to do anything and everything he dared. But he was too busy thinking about Harry's revelation. He was planning to marry _Catalina_.

It had been nothing, those years ago. Nothing important, just a boy and girl looking to escape from the madness of the other young people in the household. He knew that, as he had known then. He was married now, in any case. There was absolutely no logical reason for him to feel a sense of loss, but then, logic and emotions rarely had much in common with each other. And even if there was a reason, it didn't matter. Harry wanted to marry her, so he would marry her. That was the end of it.

* * *

"You have a responsibility to make a political match! You cannot marry this Spanish chit, I forbid it!" Margaret Beaufort snapped, giving her grandson the sharp glare that had so often cowed his mother and sometimes even his father. Harry, however, drew himself up, glaring right back. He was terrified of her, on some level deep down, as he always had been, but he refused to allow her to control him. Not anymore.

"You have no right to forbid me anything, madam! I will decide who I marry, and I have chosen Catalina. There is nothing that you can do about that."

"How dare you! You are a child, and – "

"I have reached my majority and I am the King. You do not command me, Grandmother, though you have tried to do so by selecting my Privy Council for me!"

He took a deep breath. "I am aware that I am new-come to the throne," he said in a calmer voice, with his charming smile. "I know that you only mean the best for me, and for that I am grateful. But you must allow me to make my own decisions. If you do not, how can I ever fulfill my duties?"

"You are blinded by a youth's infatuation," his grandmother continued stubbornly. "You are acting like Edward IV, and that girl thinks herself another Elizabeth Woodville."

"And even if that is the case, they were a fertile couple, with two living sons and several daughters, including my mother," Harry shot back. "Clearly they were blessed by God for their true, honorable love, and Catalina and I shall be equally blessed."

Margaret stared at her fool of a grandson, completely lost for words. She knew that he was right, she couldn't stop him, and it galled her. When her son was on the throne, he listened to her, even when he was a middle-aged man, accustomed to kingship. This callow boy would defy her already, and she could see there was too much of the Plantagenet in him, too much of the foolishness of Edward of York. "If you carry on this way, not listening to those who know better than you, you will destroy your country," she told him sharply, furious. "I wish that your brother was still here – he at least had some sense!" She left the royal presence without another word – she still had that much right, at least.

Harry didn't bother to stop her from going. He was glad to see her leave, and it meant he would not have to shout at her. He wanted to, desperately, but she was an old woman and his grandmother, so he should curb himself with her. If she was not so difficult, he would find it easier to be kind. She had no right to tell him what he could and could not do, not in any area. And especially not in matters that would so deeply affect his life. Who did she think she was? He was the King of England, and she was an old woman whose power had died with her son. He would not allow himself to be ruled as his father had done.

True, he did not want a passive woman, like his father had forced his mother to be. He liked intelligent conversation, and he would not want to marry a woman who did not know how to articulate opinions. But he would not be ruled by a woman, or by a man either. He'd had enough of that when his father was alive, and his grandmother – like everyone else – would just have to face the fact that everything was different now.

* * *

Catalina wasn't entirely sure what to expect when the new King asked her to accompany him on a walk through the gardens. He had not pressed her since the night when she refused to become his mistress, but he had still taken her out to dance. She had not been able to refuse him – he was the King, after all – but she did not know what he was planning. That there was more to the situation than him simply accepting her refusal was certain, but there wasn't anything she could do until he made it clear what it was that he wanted from her.

They walked in silence at first, Harry seeming edgy, tense, as though he wanted to say something but felt he could not. In turn, Catalina grew more and more nervous. Finally, she could not take it any longer. "Your Majesty, is everything all right?"

"Yes… No… Catalina, I…" He stepped in front of her on the path, an odd, almost desperate look in his dark eyes. Catalina felt a sudden chill of foreboding. Something very unusual was going on here.

"Your Majesty?" she prompted. Better to get this over with than to prolong it.

"Catalina…" He trailed off again, running a hand through his hair. "When we spoke before, I realize that what I asked of you was wrong. I wanted to apologize for asking you to ruin your honor in such a way. I should have known better."

"Your Majesty, you don't have to – "

"There's more. I only asked such a thing of you because I… I love you, Catalina. I love you, but I cannot ask you to destroy your reputation for me. So I'm asking you to be my wife."

She couldn't move, couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. What had he just said? Her heart pounded in her ears as she tried to calm herself enough to reply. "Your Majesty, I… I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," he told her. "I want you for my Queen, Catalina."

_"If they ask something of you, always do it, __mija__. Royalty does not understand refusal in lesser folk."_

So her father had told her just before taking her to court for the first time, the day of Prince Arthur's wedding. But surely even her canny father could never have predicted this. For his daughter, a girl who was considered half a Jewess in Spain, to become Queen of England? He would never have seen it coming, and neither had she. She had assumed that Harry would forget about her quickly when she told him no, moving on to another woman who would be more cooperative about allowing him into her bed, while taking a wife for reasons of alliance.

He might love her now, but he was just a boy. Would he still love her five, ten years from now, and how could she say yes to him if she suspected that the answer was no? But how could she refuse a King?

_ What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. _

It didn't matter, she thought, if Harry stopped loving her later. She would be able to keep his affection and his friendship, she was sure, even if passion faded. If they were married, even if that passion was no longer there, they would be bound together. If she were honest, it wasn't just virtue that had kept her from being Harry's mistress. As a mistress, she could be tossed aside at a whim, her prospects ruined. As a wife… It was a daring idea, it was something that she imagined many of the other young women at court would despise her for, and yet…

She did care for Harry, and she was certain that she could grow to love him. And some small part of her appreciated the way he so bluntly told her. It was easy to understand, unlike shy smiles and conversations that seemed to be about more than what was said – but she did not want to think of that now. She had a choice to make, and she could make it with just one word. One word, to change her entire future.

She met his gaze squarely, taking a deep breath and giving him a soft smile. "Yes."

In the end, what else could she have said?

* * *

Margaret was stunned when her brother came with Catalina in tow to tell her that they were getting married, but after the initial shock, she gave her brother a bright smile, jumping up and hugging him, before doing the same to Catalina. She knew their grandmother was probably furious, and maybe it wasn't fair to Marguerite, but she was delighted to think that her long-time friend and companion was going to be her sister now.

"This is wonderful," she said earnestly. But then, because she was old enough to understand that royal marriages weren't so simple, she frowned. "But what are you going to do with Marguerite, Harry?"

Catalina, Margaret noticed, suddenly looked tense, but Harry shrugged. "I've already promised her every honor as my sister, with a place just behind my Queen, the place she has always held, although Father's keeping her from court made it unimportant. Nothing will change for her in that regard, and I will let her keep that precedence even if she should choose to marry. That should be enough for her to be happy."

"And Grandmother? I am happy for you both, truly; I'm just wondering how you're going to handle all of this."

"Our grandmother will simply have to accept that I am King and she is not. Now, I have a Privy Council meeting – I need to tell them about the marriage. You ladies have fun." He strode out, leaving Catalina and Margaret staring after him.

"Well…" Margaret began. "I'm going to guess you didn't see this coming?"

"No, not at all," Catalina admitted, taking the seat that Margaret waved her to. "I never would have thought that he would want to marry me."

"I'm not as surprised as I ought to be; he's had a crush on you since we first met you, if you didn't notice."

Catalina blinked. "I never did, no. Really?"

"Mm-hmm," Margaret nodded. "I thought he would have made you his mistress, or at least tried to – he didn't, did he?"

Catalina hesitated. She wasn't surprised that Margaret would have thought that – the girl might only be twelve, but she was hardly a fool, and she had to know that many men, married or not, took mistresses. Some women were lucky, and their husbands only did so when their wives were pregnant and off-limits, but for others it was a constant pain. Still, she didn't want to tell Harry's sister about that. "I wouldn't agree to such a thing either way," was what she answered instead.

Margaret noticed that her answer was an evasion, but said nothing. "Well, at any rate, he's making you his wife, which is far better, even though I imagine things might be hard at first."

"You mean with Marguerite and your grandmother?"

"Exactly."

"Well, we'll just have to brazen it out, and as for the rest… I'm more worried about winning the people. They loved Arthur and Marguerite, they love Harry – "

"They loved Marguerite because she stood next to Arthur. She hasn't made an effort to make the people like her in the past seven years, she's focused on Harry. I think that's why he didn't want her; you didn't even realize his interest, much less encourage it. He must have found that appealing," Margaret observed.

Catalina tilted her head thoughtfully. "Do you truly think that it will be that easy?"

"I'm not sure; Marguerite… I don't know her that well, because Papa kept her away from Harry and me. But I do know that she's not popular with the people. They don't dislike her, but they don't know her either. They may not know you either, but I imagine they'll love the romance of it all." That last was said with a teasing smile, and Catalina blushed.

"I'm going to do the best I can, to be a good Queen for Harry and for England. I promise that much."

"Oh, you don't have to, I know that, Queen Catalina. Or… If you're going to be English, maybe it should be Queen Katherine?"

Catalina gave her a sharp look, before smiling faintly. "Perhaps."

* * *

It was strange, really. She wasn't even angry. Marguerite stared out of the window in her bedchamber at Durham House, thinking about the visit that Harry had just paid to her. He'd told her that he was getting married, and not to her. Instead, he was marrying that Spaniard courtier, Catalina. What had the woman done, followed the example of Harry's grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville?

But even Marguerite had to admit that it wasn't likely. She herself had noted Catalina's seeming obliviousness to Harry's interest, so either the future Queen of England was one of the better actresses Marguerite had ever seen – and she had seen a few – or she really hadn't known that this coming any more than anyone else had.

Not that it mattered, really. Whatever she was, Catalina de Puebla was going to be the next Queen of England, and Marguerite had a choice to make. She could go home, where her brother was all but assured as the next King of France, or she could remain here. If she stayed in England, Harry would allow her to keep Durham House, as well as give her a present of lands. She would have a high place at court, higher than she would at Louis' court in France. Until Francis was King, she would be better off in England. Once her brother was crowned, she would go home, but for now she was willing to remain.

Besides, she could be useful here. When Francis became King, he would need to know how to handle Harry as well as Charles of Spain. She couldn't help with the Emperor's grandson, but if she remained with the English court, she would have insights that her brother would find most useful in the future. She would be doing her family a disservice by going home now, when she was so well-placed to learn things about the English that no other person in France would know – save for Harry's own ambassador, of course, and he would never divulge such secrets to a foreign monarch.

This was an opportunity to help her brother. Perhaps it wasn't the aid she had hoped to give him, as Queen of England, but it was something. And she had been raised to put loyalty to the family – Francis specifically – ahead of all other considerations. So while part of her wished that she could go home, leave this court than considered itself quite impressive when, compared to France, it was sadly provincial, she knew that she would not. She understood her duty far too well for that.

* * *

"He's _marrying_ you, Catalina?" Miguel had never been so astonished in his life.

"Katherine."

"What?"

Catalina – Katherine – took a deep breath before giving her brother a hard stare. "It has to be Katherine now. I'm going to be Queen of England, so I need to use an English name."

Miguel stared at her. "You cannot be serious."

Katherine lifted her chin. "But I am. Don't you understand? I'm a foreigner, and I don't even have royal blood to offset that for the English. They're an insular people, and I don't know how they'll react to a foreign courtier becoming their Queen. I have to become English so that they accept me."

"If you're so worried about that, why did you say yes?"

"You don't say no to a King, Miguel, not unless it touches your conscience."

"Cata – _Katherine_," he corrected when her eyes narrowed, "tell me the truth. Do you love him? Do you even care for him, or are you just obeying the command of a ruler?"

"I care about him, and I think I can love him if I let myself. I never considered the possibility before, so I didn't let it happen. Under any circumstance, that would be a good way to enter a marriage, don't you think?"

"I'd rather marry for love than mere affection."

"But it's not you, is it? Miguel, I appreciate your concern, but you're not going to change my mind."

"I'm not trying to change your mind, I'm just making sure you know what you're getting into. I can't imagine that the King will be an easy husband."

"Stop worrying about me, Miguel. I know it's natural because you're my older brother, but I'm a grown woman, and you need to learn to relax."

Miguel shook his head. "I'm always going to worry about you, Lina. And don't get angry; in public I'll use Katherine if that's really what you want. But you're always going to be Catalina as far as I'm concerned. I just want you to be happy."

Touched, Katherine hugged her brother. "I will be. You'll see."

* * *

They called her Katherine during the marriage ceremony. They were supposed to – she'd told Harry about her change of name and it went into effect immediately – but somehow it added to the unreality of it all. She had been the one to decide that she had to be called Katherine now, because if she was ever going to be accepted by the English people she would have to soothe their instinctive distrust of foreigners. But that didn't mean that it felt like her name. Instead it felt like a mask she was slipping on.

And maybe it was. The mask of a Queen, a guise she would have to wear for the rest of her life. She didn't know if this was what she wanted. It certainly wasn't what she'd pictured for herself.

As they spoke the wedding vows, Harry gave her a smile that was almost shy. It was as though he too was uncertain. That made her feel a little better, and eased the tension she felt. She did care about him, and he was of such a bright, sunny nature that she was sure that she would soon grow to love him as much as he loved her.

It was going to be just fine. She was sure of it. The tiny part of her that felt as though this could not end well had to be wrong, because everything was going to work out for the best. This might not be the future Catalina had seen for herself, but she was Katherine now, and so a completely different future made sense. Didn't it?


	8. Changes Sealed

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Apologies for the re-upload, I've been informed of a technical glitch and I'm trying to fix it.

_**Chapter 8 – Changes Sealed:**_ King James of Scotland had a bit of a temper himself – no one would deny that – but he had never been as fiery as his young Tudor wife, Mary. There were reasons why, though he still kept mistresses, he didn't find them as alluring as he once had. Shockingly, his wife, who knew when it was appropriate to be calm and knew when she could be as spirited as she wished, was far more alluring than he'd ever expected. And that was most true when she was in a temper, as she was now. It wasn't directed at anyone in Scotland, though.

"The fool! What was he thinking? The family's unsteady enough, and then he goes and marries a nobody foreigner! Why didn't Grandmother stop him?"

"Mary, what in God's name are you ranting about?" Of course he already knew; his English brother-in-law's marriage was the talk of Europe. No one was quite sure what to make of it. All the ambassadors' reports seemed to suggest that Queen Katherine was as sweet and gracious as any royal wife, her main failing being, of course, that she was not of royal blood.

"My fool of a brother, James, and you had to have realized that!"

"He seems to be in love with her. Perhaps you should be happy for him?" Most men would not want to bait their wives, as it caused more trouble for them than not, but James found life with Mary to be more enjoyable the angrier she was. There was a reason he feared that their infant son might grow to be possessed of a fierce temper – he had been conceived in anger as much as lust.

She glared at him. "I don't care if he's in love with her! Marry for policy and bed whatever woman catches your eye – God knows that's your strategy, and it's the same for most kings. But Harry, no, he has to be better than that, the idiot!"

"I still don't know if I should be annoyed at your lack of jealousy or relieved to avoid the inconvenience," James observed.

His wife rolled her eyes. "I knew what you were like, James, and I was hardly going to be the one to change you. Only a daydreaming idealist would have thought of that. As long as you don't try to put a bastard ahead of our son, or sleep with a woman who will give you some disease that I could then catch from you, I don't care. It would be a waste of time, and I know it. But Harry…" She sighed. "I suppose it's some consolation that he chose Catalina, and not one of the other chits at court."

"But those other women would at least be English," her husband pointed out, puzzled.

"Yes, and most of those other women haven't enough sense to fill a thimble, much less be Queen of England. If she was of better birth – even a child of a mesalliance like our grandmother Elizabeth Woodville – then I would have little to no quarrel with his choice. As it is, he's taken such a huge risk, and I can't believe he did it!"

"Well, he did, and if it makes you feel better, you can write him a scathing letter telling him how much of a fool he is. Of course, I'd rather you didn't – I can think of more interesting outlets for your temper than letter-writing." He raised an eyebrow, giving her a highly suggestive smirk.

At first, all he got in response from his Queen was an eye-roll, before she seemed to decide that he had a point after all. "I suppose I could oblige you," she said, a glint in her blue eyes.

* * *

Katherine stood at Harry's side, uncomfortably aware that Lady Margaret's curtsey had been directed at her grandson alone, not the new Queen whom she considered an upstart. She wondered how she could respond to this. It would be easy – and, she thought, it was almost expected – for her to react with equal dislike.

But that was not in Katherine's nature. What would be the point of alienating the one person at court from whom she could learn the most? So when she saw her new husband's face darken, because he too had noticed his grandmother's deliberate snub, she put a hand on his arm. Luckily, Harry took the hint and said nothing about Lady Margaret's behavior.

"I would like the chance to speak with you, if I may, Lady Margaret," Katherine said politely.

"You are the Queen," the old woman said bitterly. "If you order it, how can I refuse?" Oh yes, there was quite a bit of hostility here. But then, she hadn't really expected anything else.

"Shall I leave you ladies to it then?" Harry wanted to know. Lady Margaret did not answer, but Katherine nodded. With one last apprehensive look, Harry left the pair of them alone.

"Lady Margaret, I know that you do not like me," the young Queen began.

"You're a girl of no good breeding. Liking you isn't the point; you're unfit to be Queen."

Katherine nodded, accepting the insult to her blood. She'd heard worse. "I can understand that, and even sympathize. But that doesn't change the fact that the King married me, making me Queen. I can't change my birth, but I can learn to act as a Queen should. You've lived at the heart of the court ever since your son became King. I don't expect to have you change your personal opinion of me; I ask only that you guide me into becoming the sort of Queen your grandson needs by his side, the kind of Queen the English people would want."

Lady Margaret stared at the younger woman, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out how sincere the chit was. It didn't take long for her to decide that, whatever Katherine de Puebla's faults in terms of bloodline, she was in earnest about this. She had been at the court for part of Edward IV's reign; she had seen how that King had taken a wife no one approved of and didn't care. She had noticed how his mother, Cecily of York, had tried to undermine her daughter-in-law, and it hadn't worked.

Margaret did not like Katherine. She did have to acknowledge that the girl was possessed of good sense, which would have made her a good match for Harry if he wasn't King. And now she had an opportunity. Marguerite had not been a prospect Margaret had relished, because the Frenchwoman was too headstrong, too stubborn to be guided by anyone. Harry was already proving recalcitrant. If Margaret wanted to retain any influence at all, it would be through Katherine, through guiding her and shaping her into a proper Queen.

In short, it was an opportunity created by regrettable circumstances, but she had the chance to make the best of it. This was hardly an ideal situation, but squandering her chance to make some repairs to it would be foolish.

"Very well," she said, inclining her head. After all, she had never been one to waste an opportunity."

* * *

Katherine had been serious about wanting to learn everything she could about being a good Queen, and one of the things she had decided was that she really needed to learn Latin. Latin and French were the diplomatic languages of Europe, and while she was already fluent in French, she did not speak Latin. She'd brought it up to Harry, and he'd promised to find someone to teach her.

So she was waiting in the library, which seemed to her the best place for lessons. At the moment, she was reading a history of England that she'd taken from one of the shelves in order to keep herself occupied. The sound of footsteps made her look up, and she only just managed not to let her surprise show on her face. "Thomas More. It's been a long time."

"It certainly has, Ca- I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he corrected himself quickly. "Congratulations on your marriage."

The words were polite, but stilted, as though he'd had to force them out. And for whatever reason, it set Katherine off. "You do not sound very sincere, Master More," she said icily.

"I… Of course I am sincere. Why would I not be?"

"I don't know. Tell me, how is your wife?" she shot back.

Thomas flinched, hearing the bite in Katherine's words. "She is well, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking."

"So, my brother told me that you were married just a few short months after we met. I wonder that you never told me you were engaged, when we spoke of so many other things."

"I…" He sighed, defeated. "I did not wish to mention it. For a short while, I… But we cannot speak of this. It was long ago, and things are different now."

"And yet you almost called me Catalina," Katherine observed. "So no, Master More, I think that we must finish this discussion, and then put it away forever. Why did you not want to speak of your betrothal?"

Thomas looked down. "It was not finalized, and I… I briefly wanted…" He looked up at her, dark eyes sad. "I believe you know what I wanted, Your Majesty, but that was never to be, so it would be simpler, and easier, to forget it all."

Katherine sighed. She wanted to push, she wanted to hear him admit what she'd always suspected, but what good would it do now? They were married to different people, and she did love Harry. So it no longer mattered.

"Very well, Master More," she said calmly. "In that case, shall we begin the lesson?" She was closing the door on her girlish infatuation, though it cost her. She was a woman now, and Queen of England. Catalina de Puebla's brief daydreams meant nothing; Katherine of England had other things to be concerned about.

* * *

Katherine had not had much time to learn from Lady Margaret Beaufort before she died, a mere ten weeks after the death of her son. It was just before the coronation, but Harry did not put the ceremony off. He said that it was the best way to banish grief, both for the late King's mother and for Henry VII himself.

But Katherine didn't quite believe him. There was something cold in his eyes, and she recalled how Harry had chafed during those first weeks, when his grandmother had sought to lead him, to advise him as she had advised the late King. Somehow, the young Queen wondered if her husband's grief was real or simply feigned, for both of his dead relatives. He exulted in his freedom, which while she could understand that, still seemed… unsettling.

But as they were crowned together in Westminster, holding scepters and receiving the holy oil on forehead and breast, Katherine pushed those thoughts aside. She could not afford to doubt now, not when she needed to be smiling and confident. When Harry whispered to her, "King Henry and Queen Katherine. You are Katherine now, English and not Spanish, and I am to be Henry, a man and not a boy. It's what I've always dreamed of, and we'll always be happy now," she gave him a soft smile.

She had never known she was part of his dreams, and she had never dared dream of this for herself, but now… She only hoped that they were as happy as he seemed to think they would be, and for a moment, she believed it along with him. That supreme confidence was contagious, and seductive.

Henry and Katherine. The second son, the overlooked boy, was now the King. The Spanish girl reviled for her blood, who'd nursed a crush on a young scholar, was now Queen of England and falling fast for her charming husband. This coronation did not only mark them out as favored by God, it set the seal on the personal changes for them both.

_"…we'll always be happy now…"_ She prayed that it would be so.


	9. And The Wheel Turns

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_**Chapter 9 – And The Wheel Turns:**_ The first Christmas of Henry VIII's reign was a happy one. The Queen was carrying the King's child, due sometime in the spring. Her belly curved proudly as she sat at the top table, presiding over the festivities. She wore an indulgent smile on her face as Henry swept up a different lady for each dance. After all, she couldn't dance with him and so did not begrudge his fun. Still, she preferred the times when he danced with his sister, Margaret.

When Margaret wasn't dancing with Henry or a handful of other young men Henry trusted – because while they were all terrible flirts, they were also his closest friends – she was usually sitting with her sister-in-law, confined to her chair because of her condition. Katherine had another companion as well – Mary Willoughby, now Brooke, had returned to court at Katherine's invitation. Miguel, welcomed as the King's brother-in-law and created Viscount Beauchamp of Hache, also came by to talk to his sister often.

"I can't believe this, Cata – I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Mary corrected herself, smiling at her friend.

"You can keep using Catalina if you like," Katherine said with a smile. "You were my first friend here, I don't forget that, Mary."

"Now don't go saying that," the Englishwoman said, mock-sternly. "It sounds as though you're about to offer me some gift or honor that I really don't deserve."

"No, unless you consider being my chief lady-in-waiting an honor you don't deserve," Katherine said off-handedly. "I have been doing without an official chief lady because I wished to offer the post to you."

Mary stared at her. "Your Majesty... Catalina... I'm honored, but your chief lady should be an experienced woman, not someone who's only ever been a minor maid-of-honor and hasn't even been at court for some time."

"You served under the King's late grandmother for a while; I'd say if that didn't teach you how a royal household should be, nothing would. Besides, you've been running your own household since you married. I trust you, Mary, and that's what is most important. I need my chief lady to be someone I know I can rely on."

Mary just stared at her. "I'm not old enough to be chief lady," she said, bewilderment clear in her voice. "I'm not important enough either, it's..."

"It doesn't matter," Catalina said confidently. "You were my first friend when I came to England, and I'm Queen now. Henry says I may choose who is to be in charge of my ladies, and I wish it to be you. You wouldn't defy your Queen, would you?" The last bit was said jokingly, but Mary still knew that Katherine really meant this. Her old friend was giving her a place she had not earned, but perhaps she could make herself worthy of it.

"In that case, Your Majesty, it would be my very great pleasure to accept."

* * *

Katherine soon had great cause to want a friend beside her, when in the second week of January, she woke to a pain in her stomach and blood staining her sheets. There was nothing the doctors could do, and her daughter was stillborn, months early. For three days, Katherine didn't leave her bed, turning her face to the wall and letting herself fall apart.

Then they gave her a new hope. He examined her carefully, and then informed her that she was still pregnant, and had only lost one of twins. She could have embraced him in her joy and relief. She still had a chance to give Henry a child from this first pregnancy, an heir for England or a daughter to love. She knew a boy would be preferable, but surely a girl wouldn't be a problem, not in these early days?

At first, Katherine believed him. But then... Well. Her belly began to shrink, and in late February, her courses returned. But the doctors had been so sure... She didn't understand. Nor did she know what to do. She didn't dare to summon the doctors back again, but she had to know. Perhaps a midwife could be smuggled in, or something of the sort? It was only two weeks before she was to go into confinement; she needed to know. She spoke to Mary about it, unaware that her brother was within earshot.

Miguel knew of a doctor. When he had arrived in England he'd been lonely, missing his homeland, and he had befriended another expatriate, despite the man's Islamic faith. Yusuf was of African descent, but he had himself been born and raised in Spain, the freeborn son of a slave woman. He'd been forced out when Ferdinand and Isabella had taken al-Andalus, and now spent the majority of his time in England. Miguel considered him a... very dear friend, without whom he was sure he would be much less content with life.

"You want me to meet your sister?" Yusuf asked with a wry smile. "Miguel... I think that's unwise, don't you?"

Miguel shook his head. "Not for _that_! She's having pregnancy troubles, and the English doctors are little better than quacks. I wanted you to see her, to find out if she really is still pregnant with one twin, as those doctors say, or if they're lying for some reason."

"It might not be a lie," Yusuf said bluntly. "These English doctors – more specifically, these Christian doctors, without meaning offense – often make well-meant mistakes. I can speak with your sister, examine her as much as she will allow, if you wish, but I can't see my opinion carrying much weight with the royal physicians."

That was true, but Miguel felt that any help he could give Catalina – and she would always _be_ Catalina to him, whatever she said – would be something.

* * *

Katherine knew the man for a Moor the moment she saw him – his dark, Nubian skin gave him away. Still, this Yusuf, son of Ismail was a friend of her brother's, so she greeted him with a faint smile. "Miguel tells me that you can help me," she said without any preamble. This was too important to waste any time on pleasantries.

"I will do what I can, Your Majesty," he said politely, his voice carrying a lilt she knew all too well, from some of the neighbors she'd grown up around. It made homesickness well in her for a moment, before she pushed it aside as a useless emotion. She sighed, looking down at her hands before lifting her gaze to meet his again.

"I have lost a child. A daughter. The physicians say that I was carrying twins, but... I am not sure that I believe them. My belly is shrinking, my courses have returned, and yet they continue to insist that there must be a second child, and that the shrinking is because I grew to accommodate two children and am now shrinking for one."

Yusuf nodded. "And so you wish to know for sure."

"Exactly. If there is another child I will have to go into confinement, the whole world will be watching me. I want to know that there is another child alive in me, and if it's a boy if there is any way to tell such things." She sighed. "I would trust my own doctors, but they... They are not educated as was the rule in Spain. I am a Christian, I believe that heresy must be stamped out, but if you are a friend of my brother then you know that my father was a _converso_. Somehow, you who do not follow the true religion have yet been guided to know things that we do not, things the Church condemns, and yet..."

"And yet?" her brother's friend prompted softly, ignoring the soft gasp from Mary. Katherine ignored it too, meeting Yusuf's eyes squarely.

"And yet, priests and Popes do not have to live in the world. They don't know what it is like to be a woman, and so I take the risk of seeking knowledge they would scorn in hopes of giving my husband an heir for his throne, and trust that God will forgive me the sin as it was done with good intent."

His smile was kind as he nodded. "I think that you know what I will tell you already, with a woman's sense."

"I don't. I am confused, and frightened, and I wish for their words to be true, but I fear they are wrong, and so I cannot trust myself, because I think I trick myself into believing first one and then the other."

"And yet, your body will tell you, despite that," Yusuf said gently, before he began to ask questions of her. "You say that your courses returned?"

"Yes, last week."

"Your breasts are tender, fuller than usual?"

"They were tender, but no longer, and they are no fuller."

"Do you feel the child moving inside you?"

"I've felt nothing since I lost the girl."

"May I examine you?"

"No!" Mary burst out, flushing when both of them turned to her. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I don't understand how you can let this man even advise you but I trust your judgment and Lord Beauchamp's. But he can't touch you, you're an anointed Queen."

Katherine sighed, seeing the skepticism on Yusuf's face. "She is right. I have an anointed body, and in our faith it means that I should not be touched anywhere but the most innocent of places by anyone who is not also anointed or my family."

Yusuf shook his head. "I do not understand such customs, but very well," he said quietly. "But I would take your hands at least, because even working from guesswork, it is a hard truth I must give you, and I wish to offer what comfort I can."

Katherine hesitated, and then stretched out her hands, feeling those dark, surprisingly soft hands engulf her own small ones. "If your courses have returned then your womb is empty, with no child. If your breasts are not fuller then there is no milk gathering there, and if by now you feel no child move, then it is either dead or there is nothing there at all. I am afraid your doctors were wrong. I understand that your stomach remained full for a time, and that was probably an infection that has now run its course. I am very sorry."

Katherine's hands tightened around his, her blue-gray eyes stinging as she met his black ones, seeing nothing but honesty and compassion there. She had known it, really, before now, but to hear it said was something else. She wanted to deny it, to say that he was wrong and the English doctors right, but she'd known Moorish doctors in Spain. Moorish cures had worked on the illness that killed her mother, in earlier years, but Ferdinand and Isabella banished the Moors and the Christian doctors and barber-surgeons who replaced them had been as hapless children beside them; her mother had died where others had easily lived.

She knew he was right, much as she wished he had told her something else, anything else.

* * *

Henry stared at his wife in consternation when she told him. He could see she was not lying – her belly had shrunk and her eyes were full of tears – but it made no sense to him. "But the doctors said..."

"They were wrong, Henry. They tell me it sometimes happens, when a woman does not immediately start to lose the signs of pregnancy, that it can be another child or simply a mistake, and they truly believed it was the former. But time has proven them wrong." Katherine took a deep breath, and for reasons he couldn't fathom, her face became slightly hopeful. "But, Henry, this is not as bad as it seems," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And tell me how that might be so, Catalina." He reminded her of who she had been by using her old name, an ambassador's daughter that he had raised to be his Queen. And she had failed him. But she did not flinch at his bitterness, instead lifting her chin slightly, confidently. He often wondered where her courage came from, never guessing that her spirit had been tempered by years of prejudice for her father's blood, and the constant terror of doing something wrong and being brought before the Inquisition. He had never asked, and so she had not shared these things with him.

"We are fertile, Henry. I'm told that sometimes, even when both a man and woman are capable of having healthy children, sometimes their combined humors do not work well together, and so there are not even pregnancies that end in miscarriage or stillbirth, much less living, healthy children. This was misfortune, of the kind that can happen to any couple."

"So, you do not believe it's a punishment from God, losing a child?"

"No," she told him, and her assurance made him believe it too, even if a tiny part of him still wondered otherwise. "But, to protect against more misfortune," she continued, "once I am fully recovered, I would like to make a pilgrimage to Walsingham, to ask Our Lady for her intercession.

Before, Henry might have protested, or wanted to go with her. He could not have borne the idea of being parted from her for long. But this disappointment made him feel as though something was changed, that things had gone awry, and he thought he could use the time to think and clear his head. Katherine would go to Walsingham, and he would find his own comfort among his court. The image of Anne Stafford, Buckingham's sister, and her pretty smile flashed through his mind, though he told himself it did not as he focused on his wife. He assured her that he didn't blame her, that it was just bad luck, as he said.

He barely heard his own words. They were just empty comfort. He would tell himself that he believed it, and that nothing was wrong, but some seed of doubt had been planted, and nothing save the birth of a healthy child – no, a healthy _boy_ – would shake it. He didn't realize that yet consciously, but it was nonetheless true.

* * *

Katherine went to Walsingham, and she found comfort looking up into the kind face of Mary. She understood, almost, how in the days before Christ, pagans had sought out mother goddesses to worship. They wanted someone who knew their pain, and the Blessed Mother was the truth of that, the truth which they had longed for but had been born too early to find. She was grateful that she had not been.

Mary was a mother, and she was the special advocate of all women. Countless wives must have come to her after miscarriages or the deaths of their beloved children, and poured out their pain to her, seeking solace in her compassionate face. Kneeling before her statue, Katherine was filled with a certainty that someone understood how she felt, finally. She felt that Mary would understand how she valued the compassion and honesty of the Moor, infidel though he was.

Her pilgrimage restored her spirits and her faith. This was nothing but a temporary setback. She had lost one child, but she and Henry were both young and healthy. There was no reason to think they would not still have a nursery full of children. She was certain that they would, and they would be princes and princesses for England, beloved by their parents and their country.

It was this rosy picture that she held in her mind as she made her return journey, and it held through the first days of her return. But then rumors about Anne Stafford and an affair with Charles Brandon reached her ears. The Duke of Buckingham left court, taking his sisters with him. And she discovered that, for some reason, it seemed that royal money had been used to pay for Brandon's illicit courtship of Anne.

Brandon was Henry's best friend, and Henry was oddly distant with her. He would not pay for his friend to seduce a woman, but might he enlist his friend to act as cover for him? A chill entered Katherine's veins as she realized that yes, he would. Henry had wanted her for a mistress once. She should have seen this coming.

A/N: A few things here. My Katherine is a bit less stringent religiously because, as the child of a _converso_, she would have been on the wrong end of such attitudes, even if only during childhood bullying. It's another divergence from the character she's based on, and a deliberate one, though I hope it's also clear that she is still a devout Christian. She is a bit of a Marian, blame the books on Cleopatra Selene and her devotion to Isis that I've been reading for that, though I do think that the fact that she is female and would understand things that a woman goes through would be comforting in a patriarchal world like the Church and the 1500s in general. Yusuf and his scene with Katherine are largely taken from and inspired by the character and scenes in Philippa Gregory's _The Constant Princess_, though the implications of his relationship with Miguel are my own.

Sorry it's been so long between updates, hopefully the next will be sooner since I pretty much know what the next chapters will entail. A bumpy ride coming up, boys and girls.


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